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The Poetical Works and Letters of Robert Burns: With Copious Marginal ...
Перегляд фрагмента - 1865
auld banks bear bless bonnie bosom charms Clarinda dare dear death Edinburgh face fair fate fear feel fellow flower frae give grace guid hand happy head hear heart Heaven hills honest honour hope hour humble idea John keep kind lass late leave letter light live look Lord mair mark meet mind Miss mony morning Muse Nature ne'er never night o'er once perhaps pleasure poet poor present pride rest round sing song soon soul sweet tear tell thee thing thou thought Till true turn verses wander weel wild Willie winds wish woods worth write young
Сторінка 275 - As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I, And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry. Till a" the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun! And I will love thee still, my dear, While the sands o
Сторінка 147 - Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray, That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again thou usher'st in the day My Mary from my soul was torn. O Mary! dear departed shade! Where is thy place of blissful rest? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?
Сторінка 289 - For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that ; The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Are higher rank than a that. Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a' that ; That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, and a' that. For a
Сторінка 90 - BARD'S EPITAPH. Is there a whim-inspired fool, Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool, Let him draw near ; And owre this grassy heap sing dool, And drap a tear. Is there a Bard of rustic song, Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, That weekly this area throng, O, pass not by ! But, with a frater-feeling strong, Here, heave a sigh. Is there a man whose judgment clear, Can others teach the course to steer, Yet runs, himself, life's mad career...
Сторінка 259 - Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, For a haughty hizzie die ? She may gae to — France for me ! Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Сторінка 79 - O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibble-field, Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise ; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies ! Such is the fate of artless maid, Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade ! By love's simplicity betray'd, And guileless trust, 'Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid Low i
Сторінка 289 - He looks and laughs at a' that. A prince can mak' a belted knight, A marquis, duke, and a' that ; But an honest man's aboon his might, Guid faith he mauna fa' that. For a
Сторінка 6 - Then kneeling down to Heaven's Eternal King, The saint, the father, and the husband prays: Hope "springs exulting on triumphant wing," That thus they all shall meet in future days: There ever bask in uncreated rays, No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, Together hymning their Creator's praise, In such society, yet still more dear; While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere.
Сторінка 76 - Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang, To step aside is human : One point must still be greatly dark, The moving why they do it : And just as lamely can ye mark, How far perhaps they rue it. Who made the heart, 'tis He alone Decidedly can try us, He knows each chord- — its various tone, Each spring — its various bias : Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it; What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted.
Сторінка 3 - My lov'd, my honour'd, much respected friend! No mercenary bard his homage pays; With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end, My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise: To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene, The native feelings strong, the guileless ways, What Aiken in a cottage would have been; Ah! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there I ween! November chill blaws loud wi...